


Dead End Friends

by jonesyjonesyjonesy



Category: Classic Rock RPF, Led Zeppelin, RPF - Fandom, Them Crooked Vultures (Band), classic rock - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, NSFW, Slow Burn, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-21 17:40:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30025413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonesyjonesyjonesy/pseuds/jonesyjonesyjonesy
Summary: You don’t get star struck anymore, not since you started running the studio. But meeting the legendary John Paul Jones certainly has your head spinning. And not in the way you expected.
Relationships: John Paul Jones/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	1. law is just a myth

**Author's Note:**

> part i – law is just a myth  
> “So, someone didn’t follow the directions, hm?”
> 
> notes: slow burn, eventual nsfw, old!jonesy
> 
> *So, here's the Them Crooked Vultures era, old!jonesy fic of my fever dreams. We can say that I'm writing this purely for catharsis.

In the silent kitchen, with the white marble countertops – you’ve just come in for a cup of coffee on your half hour break.

On the island, a small puddle of coffee left by a mug. The caramel-colored ring is still fresh. You narrow your eyes. New musicians to the studio always leave messes for you to clean up.

You walk over to a roll of paper towels in the corner, your heels clipping against the floor causing an echo in the barren kitchen. You rip off a sheet and chew on your lower lip. “Spoiled,” you say under your breath.

It doesn’t help you’re having a bad day already; the session you’re sitting in on is feeling lazy and uninspired and one of the musicians has car trouble and still hasn’t made it in. To top it off, last night, you got into an argument with your ex-boyfriend about picking up the stuff he left at your place, another in a string of exhausting landmarks in the demise of your relationship.

You throw the paper towel on the spill and watch the coffee spread gracefully across it.

You hear the seal of one of the heavy doors down the hall being broken and studio noise pours out. Someone noodling on a guitar, someone else shouting over him, and then riotous laughter from all. You find yourself envious of, what sounds like, a perfect Tuesday rehearsal session.

You whisk away the paper towel and toss it in the bin and go to the coffee maker so you can speedily get your cup and go shut yourself in your office until your break is over.

But as you lay eyes on it, your stomach drops. You approach it with dread and pull out the pitcher. Empty. “You’ve got to be fucking me,” you grit your teeth and yank it out. Not only had they left a mess, but they also hadn’t bothered to start a new pot for who was next. It was clearly labeled on the cabinet above the pot in bold red lettering. You had even laminated it. **_Kill a pot, brew a pot._**

You go to the sink and start to fill up the pot with water, beveling into your left hip and tilting your head back in defeat. The faucet always takes too long. Your face is hot with the ire built up over the day you’ve had; the empty pot is just the icing on the cake.

“Excuse me?”

You jump, losing your grip on the pot in your surprise. It tumbles into the sink and you swear despite yourself.

“Oh no, I’m sorry I – “

You turn around. The man needs no introduction, you know exactly who he is. It’s why you had been avoiding Studio 1 the past two days. Of course, on your worst of days you would run into him.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says across the island from you. He’s smiling apologetically and has his hands tucked into his pockets.

“It’s alright, I’m – I’m – hi, we haven’t been properly introduced yet,” you cast off your embarrassment quickly, circling around the island. “I’m Y/N.”

You hold out your hand toward him and he takes it. His hand is soft, with ridges and wear of age. He gives yours a firm shake and smiles, “John.”

It takes everything in you to stop yourself from saying, _I know._

John Paul Jones, in the flesh. You almost hadn’t believed it when your business partner, Rex, had told you that John and his new supergroup were going to be using your studio for a week-long rehearsal while their normal space was under major plumbing repairs. At first, you had been excited, but that excitement turned into terror the night before they were going to start working in the studio. The first day, when Rex had asked to introduce you, you said you had too much work to do, and locked yourself in Studio 3. And now, halfway through the week, you still were finding excuses to avoid the rehearsal studio.

You’ve only heard good things about him. That he’s always incredibly polite and complimentary. The quiet one, sure, but dry humored and quick-witted. “John’s a funny guy, I didn’t expect him to be so funny,” Rex had said. “He’s sharp.”

And now, before you, you have the chance to form your opinion. He looks good for his age (what that age is, you could only guess at, but that would be pathetic or insulting). Hair cropped shorter than his Zeppelin days; his eyes, dark blue, and watchful, although not intense; and, of course, a plaid dadcore button down. _Very age appropriate._

“You’re Rex’s partner, hm?”

“Yeah, yes. That’s me. The partner,” you reply. You’re talking too much, you know it.

“That’s lovely. You know, it’s always so nice to see more women in studios. It used to be such a boys club.”

You smile. “Still is, in some ways,” you say offhandedly, walking back to the sink and starting to refill the pot. “I hear things are going well, Rex can’t stop talking about the work you’re doing.”

“Oh, that’s nice of him,” he replies with a humbleness in his voice. “I think they’re going well.”

“I can’t wait to hear. I’ve been meaning to stop by,” you say and pour the water into the coffee pot. You turn back to him. “Sorry, can I get you something? Water? Coke? Beer?”

“Coffee?” John gestures to the pot, playing off of you.

“Coffee! Yes! You want some coffee?”

“I actually was looking for some tea, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, of course, let me –”

“I can do it, if you just send me in the general direction,” he assures and steps around the island toward you a bit.

But your words are coming quicker than you can think. “No please, I insist, let me –”

“Really, it’s alright.”

_Get a grip_ , you tell yourself. “I’ll just get the kettle boiling. Mugs are in the cabinet here,” you say, pointing to the cabinet above the coffee maker, “And there’s a drawer of tea—” You pull out the drawer to the left of your hip. “Here.”

“It’s like you run the place,” John says, walking toward the drawer and casting an eye on the assorted sachets your office manager has arranged by color.

“It is like that, isn’t it?” you smile. You put the kettle on and quickly get to work making the coffee.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see John’s long fingers flipping through the tea bags, like a row of records. “I don’t know how you expect me to decide with such a selection,” he says.

“Take your time.” And you mean it. He terrifies you, but you knew that once you were in his orbit, you wouldn’t want to leave. To be so close to greatness, even just in the kitchen with the white marble counters, making tea and coffee, is thrilling.

With everything set to go, you clap the lid shut, the machine begins to gurgle. You let out a sigh.

“So, someone didn’t follow the directions, hm?”

You look at him confused a moment. His eyes flit over to the sign above the pot. You can’t help but laugh, “Um…yes, I – it happens all the time.”

“Can’t imagine how. It’s laminated and everything.”

You laugh. “Yes! Exactly. It’s _laminated_.”

At least someone appreciates you.

“It was probably Dave,” John says clandestinely. “Seems like he drinks a pot at a time.”

Of course, it was Dave. You’ve met Dave a few times before. A puppy of a person: incredibly kind and lacking in self-awareness. “I don’t blame him,” you shrug and lean against the counter. “I probably could drink a whole pot now. I’m on my last leg of executive functioning.”

“That’s why you’re here.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Waiting for a cup of coffee,” John says with a lilt in his voice.

“That I will drink with a splash of disdain,” you smile

John chuckles and fishes out a tea sachet in bright red packaging, “Sounds delightful.”

The kettle starts to whistle. You move for it, but he stops you, “No, please. I’ll get it.” He slides the drawer shut and shuffles past you.

You’ve always been quick, quicker than you like, and, noticing he’s gone without a mug, you fetch one and hold it out to him before he can turn around. When he does, about to laugh at himself for his error, his eyes widen slightly and then dart up to yours. “Thank you,” he says, taking the cup.

You nod. You don’t have any more words and you’re grateful for that. Your case of foot in mouth has exhausted the both of you.

In the wake of silence in the kitchen, you both pour your respective drinks. You swear you can hear the steam from your coffee. You pour a second cup and turn to John who watches you curiously. You suddenly feel like an idiot. “Um. For Dave. Figure he could use it.”

“You’ll make me look more like a hero than I am.”

You shrug, “Take the credit, I don’t mind.”

“Too kind,” he replied, accepting the mug from you. “Although now I’m going to have to deal with trying to open the door with two mugs.”

You didn’t think of that. “I’ll open the door for you, here –” you start to go to the hall.

“I’m only kidding, please. You’re too accommodating.”

_You’re literally John Paul Jones. I would die for you._ Not entirely true, but not _not_ entirely true.

“Cheers then,” John says, lifting one of the mugs toward you.

“Yes, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” John replies and starts to go. He turns back quickly, eyes scanning the kitchen and then, he smiles. A quiet and humble sort of smile. “Just making sure I didn’t leave a mess.”

You feel yourself blushing and you’re not sure why. “Spotless.”

He gives you a parting glance and a small nod before turning back down the hall.

_**To be continued...** _


	2. that look in your eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> summary: You don’t get star struck anymore, not since you started running the studio. But meeting the legendary John Paul Jones certainly has your head spinning. And not in the way you expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part ii – that look in your eyes
> 
> “We better hurry and use the time we got. I can tell she’s a harsh critic.”
> 
> notes: swearing, mentions of infidelity, slow burn, eventual nsfw, old!jonesy

The next day. In the silent kitchen, with the white marble countertops – your session has just ended and you need a cup of coffee before the long night ahead of you.

You barely slept last night. Life has its way of sneaking into your night hours: the consequences of your actions (the consequences of other people’s actions), wrongs you’ve done (wrongs done to you). It’s not just the breakup that echoes, but every failure you’ve felt before that too, all compounding. You can spend whole nights cataloging and categorizing various regrets.

The island is clean. You’re grateful for that.

But the coffee pot. Empty again. You let out a sigh and go toward it. However, before you reach it, you hear footsteps scuffing rapidly down the hallway.

You turn just in time to find Dave frenziedly stopping himself on the island.

“Don’t touch that coffee pot,” he says, holding out his hand.

“Good to see you, too, Dave.”

“I finished off the pot,” Dave says emphatically. “It was me.”

“Is this a confession?”

“Yes. Yes, I –“ he points at your laminated sign. “Kill a pot, brew a pot. I killed it, I gotta brew it.”

You aren’t sure what to say.

“So. Walk away from the pot,” Dave orders, rounding the island and waving you off.

The timing is all too impeccable.

“Dave, it’s fine, I am happy to – “

“No!” he cuts you off. “Uh-uh. Nope. You…” Dave stops and pulls out one of the stools at the island. “Sit. You sit,” he demands.

You laugh. Dave’s way, everything done with passion, even pots of coffee. “Alright, I don’t mind,” you say and perch yourself on the stool, crossing your legs. “We can talk about getting you a pot just for the rehearsal studio, if you like.”

“You’ve got the real ideas around here,” Dave smiles. He’s not wrong, although you wouldn’t say that out loud. Rex is the engineer brain, you’re the management brain. Dave grabs the pot and runs it to the sink. He’s moving at a completely different pace than you’re used to around here. “I mentioned it to Rex, but he laughed at me. I guess I was sort of joking, we’re only here for the week anyway.”

“That doesn’t matter. We’ll get it sorted for you,” you say.

He grins at you. “So, where’ve you been, Y/N? What have you been up to?”

You sigh, “You know. I’ve had some cool projects to work on.” You pause and then add, “Been trying to get a new group off the ground. Working on an EP now, actually.”

“Seriously? That’s awesome.”

“Yeah,” you say, looking away. It’s a bit of a lie. Not a group, just you this time. You don’t like to talk about it. You’ve had enough bands and gigs fall apart in the past that it’s time to just do what you want to do for the sake of it. But you won’t dare say it out loud yet.

“You got a timeframe for release yet?”

You shake your head, “Trying to keep the pressure off. It’s been so long since I’ve gotten involved in something like this so…baby steps.”

“Totally,” Dave replies. He’s so genuine, you can’t help but smile. “You get the right people and it’ll be great, you know?”

“Yeah. Yeah, till then, it’s all this shit.”

“All this shit. You don’t mean us, do you?”

“You’re part of the shit,” you say, not meanly, but honestly. “This place doesn’t run itself and I’m behind on – well, it doesn’t matter, I just hope I can get home as soon as possible and crash tonight.”

Dave laughs, setting the pot to brew. He looks back at you with his hair in his eyes. “You out late last night?”

You sigh, “I’m just exhausted. It’s been a long week.” Long week, long month, long life.

“Well, if you’re done early, you should stop by. I know Rex would love your opinion. And I’m sure Josh would love to take a look at you,” he says with a smirk.

You gasp, your mouth spreading into a smile. “Dave!”

“I’m kidding!”

“I don’t flirt with married men.”

Dave rolls his eyes, “No one means to flirt with married people, it just happens,” he says plainly.

“Well, maybe you should be more concerned with the married person rather than me.”

“I can only do so much with Josh, so you’re gonna have to help me out.”

“I heard my name!” you hear a voice from down the hall.

Josh: you’ve met Josh, although you doubt he would remember you. It was at some afterparty and you were both drunk. You said some stuff, he said some stuff (what that “stuff” was you can’t even remember) and then you were whisked away by your then boyfriend who did not look pleased on the way home. But you definitely don’t flirt with married men.

At least not on purpose.

“Perfect timing,” you chirp, sitting up straighter.

Josh enters the kitchen and as your eyes meet, you can tell he has no recollection of you. Thank god. “Hi, you’re…” he points at you casually.

“Y/N,” you say.

“Right. Josh,” he says and rolls over to the fridge with a swagger as if he owns the place. “So, was he talking shit about me or what?”

You laugh and look to Dave who gives you a clandestine wink. “He was just saying how much he thought you and I would get along,” you say.

Josh’s eyes narrow at you, “Are you covering for him?”

“No, of course not,” you say.

Your lie apparently doesn’t pass his litmus test. “Not fair you’ve already got her on your team,” Josh glares at Dave.

Dave excitedly jumps, “She’s talking about getting a coffee pot just for me.”

“Okay, now you’re just playing favorites,” Josh teases with a smile over his shoulder. He’s a charming guy, you have to admit.

“I don’t do favorites,” you say and get up, going toward the fridge. “Bad for business. ‘Scuse me, Josh,” you sneak past him and grab a carton of strawberries.

Josh chuckles and fishes a beer out of the fridge, “Smart gal.”

Dave goes on, “Well for now, I’m the favorite and I’m getting my own coffee pot.”

“Our own coffee pot,” Josh corrects.

You go back to your stool and take a strawberry. “Let me check with Rex first, it’ll be his call,” you say.

Dave reaches over your shoulder and grabs a strawberry from the carton. “Well, maybe you can convince him.”

“Or convince him,” Josh repeats with a licentious tone. You knew he’d be the type to have only one thing on his mind (or pretend to, as part of his mythos – you wonder if it’s just very obvious or that you’re smart enough to see through the guise).

“If he swung that way, maybe,” you shrug. “Although to be honest, I wouldn’t be willing to lay down my body to get you a coffee pot, I’m sorry.”

They both laugh. Behind the laughter, you can hear more footsteps coming down from the rehearsal studio and a low, pondering conversation.

“Okay, well then what would you lay your body down for?” Josh asks.

You look at him and raise your eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would, that’s why I’m asking,” he replies slyly.

Dave quickly chastises him but you can only laugh, knowing you’re going red in the face. Maybe you do flirt with married men. But they always start it.

“Well, the gang’s all here,” Josh announces as Rex and John emerge from the hallway. They’re a funny pair, with Rex, a tattooed, beanie-clad lank, and John, who could easily blend in with a crowd should he choose.

You feel your mouth grow hot and your heart starts to race. You aren’t sure why; you’ve met plenty of musicians over the years and you can’t remember the last time you got butterflies. It’s only reasonable, though, given who he is.

“Shit, look who’s come out of her cave,” Rex says, his eyes zeroing in on you tightly. He’s pissed at you for your withdrawnness and has been for the past few months, with you preoccupied with the dismal end of your relationship and consequential moping.

“A cave? Didn’t know we had a crone in our midst,” Dave says.

You laugh, “A not so wise one, unfortunately.”

Rex clears his throat and gestures to John, “I don’t know if you’ve met, this is –“

“Oh no, we have,” John interrupts coolly and meets your gaze. “Nice to see you again, Y/N.”

You smile at him, “You as well. Tea?”

He returns the smile, “Please.”

Rex frowns, “Oh. Good.”

“Contrary to your belief, I do sometimes leave the cave,” you say and go to fill the kettle with water.

“And she does a very nice job setting water to boil,” John adds.

“Don’t flatter me, I could get used to it,” you say; you’re thankful you’ve turned away because even though he’s talking about a skill an amoeba would be capable of, you’re blushing.

When you turn back to them, water to boil, the aroma of coffee now permeating the kitchen, you see Rex’s lips curl up, watching you curiously. You try to ignore it and preoccupy yourself with finding the best strawberry you can. “How’s it going in the cave then? Good?” he asks you.

“Fantastic,” you say. You note the aggravation in his shoulders at your lack of detail. Dave puts a cup of coffee in front of you. “Oh! Thank you.”

“Thank John, he’s the one who gave me a hard time about the pot being empty,” he says, off-handedly.

A warm delight flutters in your stomach; you look at John whose eyes quickly roll away from yours. You’re about to thank him, but Dave interjects before you get a chance, “Y/N mentioned maybe getting a pot just for the studio; what do you think Rex?”

Josh pulls out the stool beside you and sits, his knee accidentally (maybe) knocking against yours in the process, “Don’t throw her under the bus, Dave.”

Rex’s eyes flash to yours, “Oh, did she?”

“I default to you, of course,” you say and innocently bring another strawberry to your lips. Your eyes land in John’s by accident as you take a bite. You swallow the strawberry without tasting.

Rex clears his throat and leans forward on the island, “Sure. We can get a pot for the studio.”

You would think it was V-Day from the one-man celebration that follows. As it quells, they start in on a conversation that you partake in sparingly. You could jump in more if you wanted, but you revel in being a fly on the wall and languidly eating your strawberries.

At one point, John slinks behind you and Josh to ready his tea. His hand brushes your back as he mutters “Pardon me” almost under his breath.

The hair on the back of your neck stands up and you have to wonder for a second what the fuck is happening to you.

You’re so far out of it, your thoughts spiraling in confusion, that it takes you a minute to realize Rex is trying to get your attention.

“You good, Y/N?”

Your eyes shoot up and you find the room all looking at you intently. “Um, yeah, I’m fine.”

“You were dissociating again.”

You glare at him. Your friendship is in a period of destruction, something that happens every three or so years; you suddenly become embittered to one another, like a married couple, incensed by every breath the other takes. “I don’t think you know what that word actually means,” you say with dullness. You shift in your seat and try and put on a comfortable smile. “I have to get back to work.”

Before you can get up, Josh taps your arm with his beer bottle and asks, “So when are you coming to give us a listen, hm?”

“Me?” you ask. Your heart pounds.

“Last I checked, the rest of us have already gotten an earful,” John remarks wryly, walking back to his post by Rex, tea in hand.

You try and shrug it off, “I’m no one special.”

“New set of ears, that’s special enough,” Dave says.

The avoidant part of your brain is pushing you to make some sort of excuse. Before you can, though, Rex huffs, “Don’t bother, she’s too busy.”

Now you’re angry. “I was actually going to say how about tomorrow.”

Rex’s mouth forms into a tight line. “It’s up to the guys.”

“Sounds great,” Dave answers with excitement.

“Now, hold up, I want a bit more warning than a day,” Josh quickly says. “How about Saturday?”

There’s a short back and forth between Josh, Dave, and Rex. John watches them wordlessly, taking a sip of tea in the process. Your eyes meet and he smiles at you. “Musicians,” he mouths with a roll of his eyes and you grin, nodding back vigorously.

It’s clear this is a normal procedure at this point: them bickering as he stands by, the silent partner. But his silence is full of a potential energy, ready to strike with some sort of wit just when the moment suits him.

“I really want to try out that lizard thing I’ve been thinking about first,” Josh says.

“No, come on, I don’t want to do the lizard thing,” Dave says and Rex follows up quickly with a quiet, “I kinda like the lizard thing.”

You can’t help but laugh and return the carton of strawberries to the fridge, “Look, you just let me know when and I’ll make the time.”

“Then Saturday. Afternoon,” John says before anyone else can speak. “Give us time to sort out ‘the lizard thing.’”

Dave bows his head and says, “John Paul Jones has spoken, ladies and gentleman.”

And indeed, he has. The guys don’t protest any further. There’s no doubt a certain amount of power John holds simply by virtue of who he is and the way he carries himself. There’s also a noticeable softness, as if he lacks an awareness of that power.

Makes it all the more dangerous.

“Perfect,” you say and give Rex a smile.

He’s unenthusiastic and that’s a fairly generous assessment. “Okay, I’m gonna head back in, so whenever you guys are ready.” Rex stalks off down the hall.

The four of you are left in a momentary, uncomfortable silence. John is the one to break the tension. “We better hurry and use the time we got,” he says first to Dave and Josh before looking at you with a small smile. “I can tell she’s a harsh critic.”

You feel yourself flush. “Oh no, I’m sure I’ll love it,” you say, but the voice that comes out of you doesn’t feel like your own.

“That’s what they all say,” he cheekily replies, then takes a sip of tea and starts down the hallway after Rex. You watch him go and feel like you can breathe normally again.

“Dammit, well if he’s going, we have to go,” Josh says. He shoves off the stool and walks past you to the hall, bumping you with his hip on the way. “Saturday then. Or see you when I see you.”

“Looking forward to it,” you say as Josh goes.

You can see Dave trying to hide his amused smile behind his coffee cup. “Wipe that look off your face,” you whisper.

“’I don’t flirt with married men’, you’re full of shit,” he replies, making his way past you to follow the rest of them without giving you a chance to defend yourself.

“Dave!”

“Looking forward to that coffee pot!” you hear him shout down the hallway back at you before disappearing into the rehearsal studio.

You’re left alone in the white kitchen, more silent than ever before. You lean against the fridge and cross your arms and your thoughts leap from Josh’s obvious flirtations, to Dave’s warning, and the undeniable anxieties you feel when John walks in the room.

It can’t be more than nerves, right?

You can’t stand here too long and wonder about it. You decidedly abandon your work and head back to grab your car keys. The rehearsal studio needs a coffee pot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I simply needed to get this one out of my system. I have only love in my heart for Josh and Dave so anything is in jest from what I understand the dynamic was like during the TCV era and is truly just trope-ish flattery.
> 
> So, we’ve still got tea, we’ve still got coffee, we’ve got old!jonesy, what’s not to love?
> 
> Feel free to let me know your thoughts should you have them! Thank you for your love and readership, you are all divine!


	3. sweet as a curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don’t get star struck anymore, not since you started running the studio. But meeting the legendary John Paul Jones certainly has your head spinning. And not in the way you expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pt. iii - sweet as a curse
> 
> “Perhaps I don’t know what’s good for me."
> 
> notes: taste of nsfw, swearing, mentions of infidelity, slow burn, old!jonesy  
> (#masturbation #self-pleasure #semi-publicmasturbation)

You dropped off the coffee pot later that afternoon, humbly leaving it outside the door and knocking to make its presence known. You made your way back to the office to start your night of work, but it didn’t stop you from hearing Dave’s disproportionate celebration upon opening the door.

The past few days, your anticipation has mounted. You run into the guys less and less; Josh teases you excitedly and Dave follows behind shooing him away. Rex even softens a bit to you (“Good call with the coffee pot. Made me look good.”).

John’s path is the one you cross most sparingly, sharing pleasantries and polite smiles. Each time you’re struck with the same heat in your mouth and flutter in your stomach.

Needless to say, you try to avoid the studio.

That is until now. Because it’s 2pm on Saturday.

When you arrive, making as small a disturbance as you can, you find Rex and Josh chatting while Dave and John both busy themselves with their gear. You tiptoe over to one of the white couches opposite the playing space, trying to sit before being noticed.

“Who’d you dress up for?” Josh hoots your way.

It’s been a full day, coffee with prospective investors in the morning, a walkthrough with clients that were coming in next month, and now this. So, you’ve outfitted yourself for the occasion much more formally than usual. You’ve got on your trusty white blouse and a mid-length pencil skirt in a burgundy color. Your hair is swept back easily and you’ve even gone to the trouble to touch up your makeup halfway through the day.

It _is_ a supergroup, after all.

“Meetings. You know. Gotta put on a good face.”

Josh starts to speak, but Dave cuts him off stunningly fast, “ _Nope._ ”

Josh rolls his eyes and then smiles at you. He lowers his voice, “I was going to say, ‘a _very_ good–”

“Nooooo!” Dave shouts loudly over Josh, although you could fill in the blank.

“Jesus, dude, you’re like a fucking smoke alarm,” Josh turns and goes over to Dave.

You blush and apologetically look at Rex, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“His fault he can’t keep it down,” Rex shakes it off. “We’re almost ready to go.”

The rehearsal studio is a magical place. A little more run down than the rest of your facilities: scuffed floors, couches and chairs with deep creases in the cushions, and an excessive amount of equipment lingering in every corner. There are ghosts in here, good and bad indiscriminate, of the people and the music they’ve created.

Through all the noise, the putting of the coffee pot catches your attention. It has a ceremonious place as close as allowable to the drum kit.

“Fifth pot today.”

You turn to find John, who casually plucks at his bass.

“ _Fifth_?”

“He’s somewhat of an addict,” John sighs. “You can have a cup. I won’t tell Dave.”

You laugh, “Wouldn’t want to get in the way of an addict and his supply.”

“Oh, shhhh…” he comes closer, playfully looking over his shoulder to make sure you’re not being watched. “Don’t worry. I’ll cover for you.”

“That’s very generous,” you raise an eyebrow. “Almost _too_ generous. What’s in it for you?”

John catches your tease effortlessly, “Can’t it just be a kindness?”

“A kindness,” you repeat quietly. Who says that?

“Have I given you reason to be wary of my intentions?”

It’s hard to take your eyes off of how his hand meanders across the strings. “Have to be wary of everyone in this line of work,” you say.

“Well, I can’t speak for the others,” he says, giving a nod toward Josh and Dave. “But I’m very pure of heart. Only _good_ intentions.”

“I can’t just take your word for it.”

“No, of course not.”

“That’d be irresponsible.”

John nods, “Very.” Then, he smiles, awaiting your next move.

Your stomach twists. You can’t even put together a coherent sentence before Rex calls you over to sit so they can start. Coffee can wait. “Well, best of luck, then,” you say as you pass John. “I’m a harsh critic, remember?”

“How could I forget?” he chuckles.

The whole way to your seat, you analyze the interaction. That _felt_ like flirting, but you can’t be sure. Could be that humor Rex referred to, that innate cleverness. You can’t think on it too long before Dave counts them into their first song.

What unfolds in the next hour is tremendous and unyielding. You knew it’d be good, but _this_ good? Unprecedented. You are captivated by the mania of the guitar and drums, complemented by Josh’s allusive and perverse lyricism and the nuanced lines of the bass. It pulses, like an empire on the brink of collapse.

Rex elbows you at one point, meeting your eyes as if to say, _What’d I tell you_? and you nod, wide-eyed. _Wow_.

Each song, your gaze bounds from musician to musician; from Josh, to Dave, to John, and back again. It’s not often you get to watch artists at the top of their craft still in this raw and tender stage.

The longer you listen, the longer your eyes linger on the bassist. The deft way he handles his instrument, as if his artistry is quotidian after all this time, is fascinating.

_More_ than fascinating. So much so that, eventually, you’re watching only him for entire songs at a time. And he’s not just alluring for his musicality. You have to admit what you’ve been avoiding putting words to – John is handsome and easy to look at. Gravity has been kind to his sharp features and he carries himself with the charisma of a man much younger.

And there are more thoughts you can’t turn away from, however desperately you try. Intrusive ones. You can’t help but think that his fingers are meant for more than strings.

There’s an undeniable eroticism in his motions that you swear you can feel, smally at first, right at the place your ribs meet above your belly. A pleasant vibration. The more you listen, the more you fixate on how his fingers make work of the strings. And the further the feeling spreads down your front: pulsing, frantic warmth.

You can feel your eyes dilate in your skull. And you’ve gone wet between your thighs. You can’t even concentrate on what you're hearing. All that exists is his fingers and your imagination.

Shame ruptures against your arousal; you feel so wrong because you’re supposed to be listening with a critical ear, not _fantasizing._ Not here. Not when you’re working. And not about _him._

You need to get this out. Right now. You can’t ignore it.

It’s sheer luck that they fumble into their next number. almost as if the instruments collided together confusedly and don’t know how to untangle. Dave is the first to stop. “The lizard thing isn’t going to work.”

“Oh, _come on,_ we had it earlier,” Josh immediately replies.

All the while, John plods on carefully on his own, smiling to himself.

_Bastard._

You leap to your feet and whisper to Rex, “Bathroom.” You don’t wait for his answer and bolt out of the rehearsal studio and to the single occupancy bathroom just around the corner.

You can’t lock the door fast enough. You throw yourself over the sink and pull up your skirt, delving your fingers between your pink lips. A breath seethes through your teeth as your fingers knock against your swollen clit.

You’re wetter than you thought, which makes it easy to start pumping your fingers quickly. The immediate friction makes you fall into a trance. You lean all your weight into the sink, your knees locking out and your head bent forward, almost touching the mirror.

It occurs to you briefly in this fever that it’s been too long since you’ve touched yourself, probably weeks. If you keep up at this rate, you know it won’t be long to reach your climax.

In your imagination, you see him, calm and collected, and instead of fingering his bass guitar, it’s your pulsating pink center. You desperately wish you could be under his command as his instrument. You wonder what his voice is like when it’s low and wanting, what his breath would feel like in your ear, and how he would make you cum.

_Fuck._

He would likely be more delicate with you than you are now. Your fingers aggressively press into your clit with each stroke of your hand and your legs are shaking. You’re close. And there’s a dangerous sound manifesting in your gut, something that aches to be released.

Your jaw falls open, breath caught in your throat, each motion building on the next until you’re pushed to the edge and the sensation bursts. Your orgasm is short, but powerful, forcing you into collapse. You hang onto the sink and bury your face into your leg. A shaking, gurgling moan escapes from your core.

Your heart beats viciously in your chest and the sound of your blood rushing to your head abates. You cover your face with your hands, “What the fuck.”

Footsteps. Down the hall. Heavy.

You shoot up from the floor and wash your hands, cursing under your breath.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Just a minute,” you call out. You catch yourself in the mirror. The intense crimson of your cheeks can’t be helped, but you take a moment and readjust your skirt and blouse before walking out.

Josh is there, leaning against the doorframe. “That bad huh?”

You shake your head; it feels like there are marbles rolling around up there. “What?”

“You ran out like your life depended on it. Ears were bleeding?”

“Oh, no! No, no, no, no, no…” That’s too many nos. “No. You are phenomenal.” You start back to the studio and he follows beside you.

He frowns, “Are you okay?”

“Uh. Yeah. Yes, I’m fine.”

“You sure? You look – uh, I mean you look fine, but your eyes are kinda –“ Josh stutters, his eyes bugging out slightly. “You know?”

_Oh, Jesus. It’s that obvious._

“Yeah, sorry, just --” you have to think fast. “I just got my period.” That’ll shut him up.

His eyebrows jump up and he nods, “Oh. _Oh,_ yeah, no –”

“So I had to –”

“No, of course, that’s good,” Josh says, words clipped and strange in cadence. “Not _good_. I mean, if it’s good -- I mean, it’s good you didn’t run out because you hated it.”

You reenter the studio, laughing, “Of course, I didn’t.”

Dave, Rex, and John, now relaxing on the couches, look to you immediately. You avert your gaze and hope you aren’t betraying yourself by just the look on your face. “I’m so sorry, everyone, I hope I didn’t --”

“Josh, she hated the lizard thing,” Dave needles with a dopey smile.

“No, please, I didn’t,” you say while Josh simultaneously objects. “I loved it. Really.” _Truth_. “My untimely exit had nothing to do with you.” _Lie._

“Ooo, tell us more,” Dave giddily gestures for you to sit. “About the ‘loving it’ thing.”

To your abject horror, the only spot still open on the couches is right beside John. There isn’t time to figure out a different option without being conspicuous. You go over to the spot and ask, “You mind?”

John looks up at you and you swear there’s an impossible, knowing glint in his eye. “Please,” he replies. You sit as far from him as possible (not far enough, with how the cushions bend toward one another to the middle) and lean into the arm of the couch.

“So,” Josh starts. “What’s your impression? First one.”

You ponder a moment and then say, definitively, “Aggressive. But…emotional. Sensitive. Like an existential crisis on a motorcycle.”

Dave’s eyes grow big, “Oh, that’s good. We should write that down.”

“I got it,” Rex hurriedly pulls out his notes and scribbles your words down. You can’t help but be a little smug.

You all start in on a conversation that is energetic and exciting, the way you’re playing off one another and building on ideas, jokes, and questions. You have a few more vivid metaphors to throw their way (after all, you’re more of a feeling and energy person than a technical one).

After awhile, you retreat into the wings of the conversation as Rex, Josh, and Dave start to rip apart the lizard track.

“Why do you even call it the ‘lizard track’?” Dave asks incredulously.

“Dude! The feeling of it, it’s like reptilian! Don’t you get it?”

Both you and John can’t help but laugh as Rex attempts to modulate the quarrel. You exchange a look and you can’t tell if he wants to say something, so you turn away and smooth out your skirt nervously.

You feel him shift next to you and lean your way. “That wasn’t just harsh, that was brutal. Running out like that,” John whispers.

_So that’s what his voice would sound like._ You smile tightly to keep yourself from laughing (or screaming, you can’t tell). “I’ve never been good at hiding how I feel…” You lean a bit toward him too. “But I never mean for casualties.”

“Oh, not a casualty. Not yet.”

Your mouth dries at the thought of a double entendre.

“Just a wound. A deep one, but...” he adds.

“I’m sorry, I hope you make a swift recovery.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

You feel his breath against your ear as he asks, “Are you really sorry?”

You shiver. This _is_ flirting. It has to be.

“No,” you say, turning to face him hesitantly (for fear of becoming flustered). “Not one bit.”

John’s wonder turns to delight; he laughs, “I suppose I don’t have any hope of you aiding my recovery, then.”

You could think of a few things to help, but don’t dare say them. After all, your ideas aren’t so musical in nature. “You must be some sort of masochist to ask the one that hurt you to nurse you back to health, don’t you think?”

John purses his lips and doesn’t respond right away, his eyes turning toward the group for a moment. It’s the first time you see him falter, that his cleverness has eluded him.

Maybe you’ve gone too far.

He doesn’t leave you waiting long, though. There’s a look in his eye that on one hand seems far away, like a memory yet to be, and on the other, draws you in with immediacy. John tilts his head toward you slightly and you hold your breath: “Perhaps I don’t know what’s good for me.”

Before you can respond, Dave’s voice interrupts, “What do you think about that, John?”

“Hm?” John leans away from you and diverts his energy entirely back to the group. “About what?”

Almost subconsciously, the two of you resituate away from one another on the couch and reenter the conversation as if you had never left. It’s not much longer before John offers to play around with the keyboard for one of the songs and everyone begins to disperse. You decide it’s a good moment to take your leave and bid a quick goodbye.

As you go toward the door, Dave stops you with a gentle touch to your arm and, with a knowing smile, murmurs, “If you’re going to flirt with married men, at least include me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all, I cannot get enough of my fever dream. You better break out that TCV album now, if only for John Paul Jones' sake (let's be honest, do it for ME). Thank you all for weathering this storm with me; it's much more fun with friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Well. I finally felt emboldened enough (thanks to you wild, wild folks) to give you all this fever dream that I’ve picked up and abandoned over and over for months now.
> 
> I’ve messed with the timeline, taken some liberties, and very much don’t know what I’m talking about half the time regarding studio time, so please, just suspend your disbelief if you’re feeling generous.
> 
> Thank you for your love and support all this time! And anyone who said to me, “No, share your old!jonesy fic,” well, we made it and it’s semi-cursed!


End file.
